


The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty

by The_mykie_show



Series: The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-28 15:57:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17186006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_mykie_show/pseuds/The_mykie_show
Summary: With his marriage to Lucille falling apart Negan finds love again in the most unexpected place, the kind of love he'd thought he'd never find again, the kind of love that makes him want to make the world a better place for her. Thus a savior is born.Takes place before and during the apocalypse.





	1. F**k cancer

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for sexual assault (not very graphic and is stopped before it gets very far)

Lucille would fucking kill me if she knew I was here. 

I was an asshole, I fucking knew it, Lucille sure as fuck knew it, but a seedy strip club was low even for me.   
I could lose my job over this shit.   
Yet here I was, watching a pretty young redhead twirl her body around a metal pole to the beat of an electric post punk song, wearing a leather and lace number that left little to the imagination. 

It wasn't that I didn't love Lucille, I did, she was my wife of course I loved her. It was just a different kind of love now than it was when we met, when we moved in together, when we married, when we tried to have a kid. And the lust was all but dead. Nothing took the fun out of sex quite like the pressure of putting a baby in her and failing every damn time. At the end of the day, Lucille still had a tilted uterus and I was still shooting mostly blanks, and no matter how much we wanted a kid it could never change that. 

I downed the rest of the whiskey I'd been nursing all night, and watched the girl spinning around the pole. She was probably one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen; everytime she moved waist length deep red hair moved with her, the black lace she wore contrasted starkly with her pale skin, she had curves, with full hips and a nice rack, but also muscles that flexed with each graceful movement she made.   
She dropped herself onto the stage, laying on her back, red hair spread out around her, as she ran her hands down her body, stopping to squeeze her tits, making direct eye contact with me.   
I felt Little Negan twitch. 

And that was how it started. With one friday night at the club, and a $200 tip to the redheaded beauty that I definitely couldn't afford.   
Then it turned into every friday night at the club. 

I never touched her, I never asked her for a private dance, hell, I never even spoke to her, just watched her. And Lucille was never any the wiser. I'm not sure she'd even care anymore if I was being honest with myself.   
But it wasn't like I could go ask my wife of 10 years “hey, do you care if I go to the strip club once a week and give half our money to a exotic dancer? Not like we're having sex or anything so…” nope, that would be a horrible idea.   
Not that I was making many good life choices lately. 

On this particular Friday night, some douchebag had taken my normal place in front of the stage where she always danced, I didn't have to hear the way he spoke to her to know he was a douche bag either. The douchey way he wore his hair, his stupid ass wannabe lumberjack shirt, and his too well groomed beard was more than enough to prove he was going for the gold in the douchebag Olympics. That little fact was only solidified when he reached on the stage and grabbed her ass.   
Fucker. 

She signaled for a bouncer, who was thankfully built like The Rock and was able to very roughly escort the wannabe lumberjack outside, and I was able to resume my usual place at the front of her stage. I started to get the feeling that she knew me, that she recognized me as a regular. And our routine went on for months. 

* * * * *

“call 911!” 

Lucille was yelling at me again. Something about the parents complaining that I swore too much and the school was going to fire me, but I wasn't really listening. Maybe I would have if I would have known that was the last conversation I'd have with my wife before our world fell apart. 

She had cancer and her chances of recovery were slim. Even with aggressive treatments that started immediately.   
I didn't have long with her, I knew it deep down, and before long I forgot all about the women I'd cheated with, the dead lust between Lucille and I, and even my redheaded beauty at the club.   
Until one day she came back into my life in the most unexpected way possible. 

Lucille had an appetite that day, which was unusual so the minute she said she wanted macaroni and cheese I damn near tripped over my own feet trying to get to the hospital cafeteria.   
And that's when I heard it.   
Two people arguing.   
“What do you want? Money?” a woman's voice asked.   
“I had something else in mind actually,” a male voice replied. “and given your occupation it shouldn't be a problem.”   
“What the fuck!... Get off me…” the woman was angry at first but then it turned to fear.   
I opened the door to the small exam room all the way and peered inside.   
A dark haired man in a lab coat had her pinned against the wall, his hand in her shirt feeling up her chest while she struggled.   
I immediately recognized her bright ass red hair even though it was tied up on top of her head in a bun, and she was wearing normal clothes. 

I didn't think before I acted. And the next thing I knew Doctor Douche was across the room and bleeding. But I didn't stop there, I grabbed him by the lapels of his lab coat and threw several more punches in his face, I felt his nose crack and when I let him up he spit several teeth onto the ground. I delivered one last hard kick between his legs.   
“What the fuck kind of piece of shit doctor does something like this shit?” I ask while he holds his balls “huh? You answer me you dickless little skidmark!” I drew my foot back again preparing to kick him.   
“This is none of your business asshole, we were working out a deal.”   
And that's when I recognized him, the wannabe lumberjack from the club. 

“Really? because it fucking looked like you were sexually assaulting that woman.”   
“It's fine man, she doesn't care, she's a slut for hire.” that got him a kick to the face that I'm pretty sure dislocated his jaw.   
“Maybe you should fucking ask her if she cares? You ever heard of asking for consent you sorry ass, piss poor excuse of a man?”  
He scrambled to his feet saying something that sounded like “I'm going to sue you.” but it was hard to tell for sure with his jaw all fucked up.   
“Yeah well good fucking luck with that asshole. You gonna walk into a courtroom and say “yes your honor, this guy beat the shit out of me while I was committing sexual assault, arrest him and take all his money.” that'll totally work.” Doctor Douche took off down the hallway dripping blood in a trial on the white floor tiles. 

This whole time the woman was sitting against the wall with her shirt still messed up.   
“Are you okay?” I asked her softly.   
She nodded “I will be.”   
“Can I get you anything? Call someone for you? Find you a doctor?”  
“No. Please just don't tell anyone about this!” she pleaded.   
“What? No that guy is a doctor, you gotta report this.”   
“It won't do any good and if anyone finds out why he did it I'd be fucked…”   
“He did it because you're a stripper?” I blurted out without thinking.   
“So you do know who I am.”   
“Wait… You know who I am?”   
“No, but I recognize you from the club. You came every week for months to watch me dance, and you tipped me every time.” she fixed her shirt and checked her reflection in the glass of one of the medical cabinets.   
“My names’ Negan in case you ever wondered.”   
“Justice, in case you ever wondered.”


	2. Taking out the trash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negan realizes that Justice has a stalker.

The money ran out a lot faster than I thought it would. 

Even with halfway decent insurance cancer treatments were expensive. I ended up taking another job, it took me away from Lucille more but it paid for the treatments and the bills and that was all that mattered for now.

I saw Justice at the hospital quite often. 

Always in the cancer ward, or the cafeteria. 

I didn't get up the courage to talk to her until we ended up alone at the coffee station one day. 

“Hey…” I awkwardly acknowledged her. She just nodded in response. 

“Are you okay…. from the other week.”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” her tone was clipped and cold. 

“Has he left you alone?” 

“Yes, I am fine.” 

“I didn't tell anyone, just so you know.” why did I feel so oddly threatened by this women? She was probably 5 foot tall and weighed 100 pounds. 

“I appreciate that.” she sounded a little less pissed off at me… At the world as she stirred her coffee with a little plastic stick. 

“So I see you here a lot.” I commented, fishing for information about her. 

“Yeah, my sister is in treatments. She has cancer.” 

“So does my wife.” I didn't fucking think that one through, she's going to think I'm a disgusting human being now, going to the strip club while my wife dies of cancer, who does shit like that? Granted I didn't know Lucille was sick when I was going to watch her dance every week, but she didn't know that. 

“I'm sorry.” 

“I am too,for your sister… And for what happened to you.” 

She shrugged “it's an occupational hazard, most dancers deal with sexual harassment from clients, especially in the kind of joint I work from. I'm lucky it wasn't worse.” that's fucking sad. 

“Do you only dance to pay for the cancer treatments?” I hoped asking her that wasn't too much. 

“No, I've always been a dancer, got my first job at 18, it use to be because I liked it, and I use to work in more reputable places. But this is the best hospital in the state and that is the only club near here that pays well enough. So I took what I could get.” 

“I'm sorry, that's rough.” 

She shrugged and smiled a sad little smile “yeah, but I'll make it through. I always do.” 

That night I decided I didn't really didn't need to eat anything that wasn't hospital food and I went to the club and gave Justice the money. I didn't even stay for her performance, just threw a hundred dollars on the stage and walked out. But I decided to wait in the parking lot and have a cigarette. 

I hadn't smoked in years, but apparently I'd gotten so desperate to connect with Lucille again that I was willing to give myself cancer too so we'd have something in common. 

I was a dumbass. 

I light up and stash the cigarettes back in my jacket pocket. And that's when I see that little fucker from the hospital waiting by the back door of the club. The door the dancers used. 

That little fucker. 

“I thought I made myself crystal fucking clear what I would do to your ass if you came anywhere near her again?” the little turd visibly gulped when he recognized my voice. 

“What, was attempted rapist not enough? You just had to add stalker to your resume too? Bet that looks awesome on a medical school application.” 

“Why don't you mind your own business? What I've got going on with her is none of your concern.” 

“None of my concern? I think a soon to be fully minted doctor being the type of man would sexually assault someone is everyone's concern. And her being a stripper doesn't change shit, I don't care if she was a $25 hooker, or your goddamn wife, no means no, you piece of shit.” 

“Fuck off, man. Are you screwing her? That why you care so much?” 

I answer by punching him in the face. 

He spits blood on the ground laughs. 

“that's what I thought. She a good lay? She looks like she is, whore like her is probably pretty loose though.” I hit him so hard he passes out. He swayed and fell over almost comically, it looked liked something out of a cartoon. 

I decide it's a good idea to throw the little fucker in the dumpster out back. Either he wakes up in a pile of used cum towels and empty liquor bottles or a trash compactor. Either is good with me. He's surprisingly heavy for a little guy, so it takes me a few minutes to get him wedged in there properly. 

By the time I do I see Justice making her way out of the club, dressed in normal clothes with a gym bag slung over her shoulder. She holds out a set of car keys and presses the button on the fob and I hear a sad sounding beep and see a dull flash of light.

“Shit!” I hear Justice groan. 

She's standing in broken glass next to a beat up Dodge Charger that's been completely trashed. All the windows are broken out, all four tires slashed, headlights and taillights smashed, paint scratched all to hell, interior ripped apart. There's a Louisville slugger on the ground a few feet away from the trashed car.   
This had to be that little fucker in the dumpster's doing. 

Justice shook her head and turned and walked away from the car towards the street, was she going to walk home? How far away did she live? It was 30 degrees outside for Christ's sakes. 

My mouth worked faster than my brain, like always. “Do you need a ride?” I called out. 

She stared at me skeptically, almost as if she deciding how sure she was that I wasn't a serial killer.   
“I'm not a serial killer, I promise.” 

“Yeah, that's definitely not something a serial killer would say.” I had to hand it to the girl, she was keeping in good spirits about the whole situation. “Sure, I'll take my chances with that ride, since you're allegedly not going to chop me up with a chainsaw.” 

“Allegedly so, yeah.” 

“You got any idea who did this?” she asked. 

“Yep, probably that douchebag resident from the hospital. It seems you have a stalker.” 

“He was here?” she seems genuinely scared, which was probably a good thing. This psycho had not only assaulted her, he'd now destroyed her car. 

“Waiting by the door, probably waiting for you to come out and see his handy work.” hopefully that was all he was waiting for. 

“Shit. Guess I'm going to the police station tomorrow. Maybe if I don't tell them what I do for a living they'll help.” 

“Does your job really matter?” 

She nods “you'd be surprised. Technically I'm in the sex industry even if I don't actually sleep with anyone from the club. You ever watched a crime show on TV where they talked about “high risk lifestyle”? Well I'm what they mean by that.” 

What the fuck is wrong with society? 

“That's fucked up and unfair.” 

“Yeah, life is fucked up and unfair buddy.” she had a point. 

“That sick asshole even used my baseball bat to do it.” she says picking up the bat off the ground.   
“Do you play?”

“Play what?” 

“Baseball.”

“Oh, no. It's for self defense. High risk lifestyle, remember?” she props the bat up on her shoulder and swaggers away from the destroyed car. I've never been more afraid of a woman, or aroused like I was watching that. 

“So where you parked.” she takes a picture of my license plate on her phone and rapidly texts to someone. Smart woman. 

“Would you like to see my drivers license too?” to my surprise she says yes, I give it to her dumbfounded. I'm putty in this woman's hands.

She gets in, and immediately changes the radio to a punk rock station, sits her stuff in the floorboard, her water bottle and phone go into the cup holders, and she's made herself at home in my car.   
“Where is that asshole anyway.” She asks putting on her seat belt. 

“I threw him in the dumpster around back.” it's her turn to look dumbfounded now.


End file.
